


Right Hand

by BlueBoxDetective



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Gen, I Don't Even Know, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21608191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBoxDetective/pseuds/BlueBoxDetective
Summary: This is a stupid, stupid soulmate AU that just kinda happened.I don't know why.If that still doesn't repel you, here you go:____“Sammy, listen to what the café wrote. ‘In the middle of a large city, there is a beautiful statue of a person. The rumor surrounding it is, that when they touch hands with their soulmate, they will become human’.” Dean throws his head back with a single laugh. “They ask you to take you’re shot and come in to drink a cup of coffee if you don’t meet your soulmate. At least they have marketing down.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 135





	Right Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the following prompt:  
> https://www.pinterest.de/pin/586382813963100062/

„Guess what, I found us a case.” Sam sticks his head through the door without knocking. Dean scrambles to his feet – not that he has done something that he wants to hide from his brother, it’s just a reflex to being taken by surprise.

“Dammit Sammy, knock!” Dean throws Sam his best I-am-annoyed-look before he shuts his laptop.

“Sure thing,” Sam shrugs the comment off, “come on, you gonna want to see this.” Dean stops out his room after him, but his fake annoyance fades quickly. There are so few cases this day that any work is a reason to be excited.

Sam leads him into the kitchen, where his own laptop is showing multiple articles and pictures. Dean will never understand how his brother is able to work with half a dozen small windows open.

“So get this,” his younger brother announces as he gracefully slips into his chair. Dean rolls his eyes and falls down next to him. “There is a statue in Salt Lake City that has become a tourist attraction. Myth is, if it touches the right hand, it will come ‘back to live’. So, naturally, there are countless selfies of people holding its hand.”

Dean’s enthusiasm is ebbing: “So, has it come back to life or what? Since when are we interested in superstitions?” He stares at the picture of a young woman, her mouth wide open in fake shock, in the background a black, faceless statue.

“Let me finish,” Sam shoots him a copy of the annoyed look that Dean had given him earlier. The older brother gestures him to continue. “Apparently, the statue is relatively new. It has only been around, like, two years or so. _And_ ,” he adds when Dean is already rolling his eyes, “and, over those two years, if you look closely, it has moved.”

Sam scales up two of the pictures on his pc. They are, again, selfies, taken by different people and from different angles. The statue looks identical to Dean.

“This is the first picture I could find,” Sam continues as he points at the one with a giggling young man, “and this is the last. It has been taken two days ago. I know the angle is awkward, but you can tell that the head has turned at least, I would say, 20 degrees.” Dean squints his eyes as he stares at the pictures. The second picture shows a lot more of the selfie taker than of the statue, and the head of the statue thingy is cut off at the top. The older sibling tries to take in the orientation of the head in comparison to the shoulders, and maybe, maybe they are not the same. But, for god’s sake, it could just be the picture. He stares at his brother.

“You wanna make a twelve-hour drive based on _this_?”

“Do you have anything better to do? _Other_ than watching Netfix,” Sam adds when Dean opens his mouth. The older brother grumbles but fishes his phone from his pocket. Dean would like to slap his younger brother for the sympathetic look he is giving him as he types out his message.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice is disgustingly soft, “it has been ages.”

“21 months.” Dean corrects him and gets up without watching Sam’s reaction. And without checking that his message, like all the others, will never get the second tick for getting through to the owner of the phone. Usually, that is it for their discussion. Apparently, Sam wants to be annoying today.

“Why do you still try? We looked for a whole year, and there was nothing.” His voice is warm, but to Dean, it sounds like an accusation.

“Because we _didn’t_ find anything. Because, if one fucking day a miracle happens, I want him to know where he finds his family.”

///

Two hours later, they are on the interstate. They half-heartedly discuss what the case could be, but they don’t find anything they can settle on. They go with “wait and see”.

///

“That’s it?” Dean asks unimpressed as the Impala rolls around the corner onto a small square. It is late in the evening, but the area looks like it wouldn’t be busier if it was earlier in the day. Dean follows Sam out the car with a sigh. They walk over to the statue, that isn’t even in the center of the square, but tucked between a barber shop and a café that looks like a hazard for food poisoning. In the window of the café somebody has hung up a printed explanation of the statue. Dean laughs and begins reading it out loud.

“Sammy, listen to what they wrote. ‘ _In the middle of a large city, there is a beautiful statue of a person. The rumor surrounding it is, that when they touch hands with their soulmate, they will become human’._ ” Dean throws his head back with a single laugh. “They ask you to take you’re shot and come in to drink a cup of coffee if you don’t meet your soulmate. At least they have marketing down.”

Sam is inspecting the podium under the statue’s feet. Without commenting on Dean’s find he asks: “Why isn’t there be a plaque? If somebody build it, there would be.” He gets up from his crouched position and looks the faceless, black shimmering statue in the missing eyes. “So, what are you?”

“I don’t think it can hear you. It doesn’t have ears,” Dean mocks his younger brother.

“You are not helpful,” Sam states and runs a hand down the statues outreached arm. Dean rolls his eyes.

“So, what do you want me to do? Pat it down? See if I can bring it back to life? All right.” He walks over to shake the statue’s hand, “Hey, you metal tourist attraction, nice to-“

He grabs the hand of the statue, and something falls, right at him. The black thing tips off its podium and into Dean’s arms.

 _What the hell?_ his brain helpfully provides.

The hunter catches it out of reflex and huffs at its weight, and a second after at the surprisingly soft texture of the thing. He hears Sam gasp out loud and wants to say that he caught it, he didn’t break anything, but then he looks down at his catch.

His brain is stuttering at what it sees, since it is most definitely not the statue that had just fallen. Instead there is a very naked man in his arms. Dean’s first instinct is to jump back and pull his arms away, but he has the decency to just yelp and try to shuffle the human to his own feet. Whoever he has caught struggles to get up, staring at his legs as if they aren’t doing what he wants them to. His face is hidden from sight, but Dean gets the sinking feeling the tousled dark hair might be familiar. The feeling increases as the human looks up, and it becomes very clear that it isn’t a human at all. Dean wants to say something, but all that comes out of his mouth is a broken sound. For a moment, the world stops spinning as his brain tries to catch up.

“Cas…”

He whispers, his voice nearly failing. The angel nods slowly.

The world starts turning again when Sam clears his throat. Dean jumps as if he has been caught with something, before he brings his brain into professional mode.

“Um,” he stutters. When his voice doesn’t break, he tries for more, “we… should get you some clothes. Can you… The car is just a couple of steps. Can you walk?” The fact that Cas is still relying on his hands to support his body weight has Dean doubt it, but Cas nods again. Sam turns away, a hand shielding his eyes, and goes ahead. The angel takes a cautious, shaky step, and a broken sound rolls from his lips. Dean feels like it punches him in the stomach.

“Let me…” he murmurs, letting go of one of Cas’ hands, “I… wanna lean against me?” The angel doesn’t really react, so Dean takes a deep breath and wraps the arm that he is holding around his shoulders. His second hand grabs Cas’ side, and this is the wrong moment to notice, but damn is his upper body soft and muscular at the same time. A deep blush colors his cheeks as they slowly make their way to the car. The angel’s head falls heavy on his shoulder, and Dean is fairly certain he hears Cas rasp the hunter’s name.

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” he mumbles back. Cas barely moves his feet enough for them to get anywhere at all, and when they reach the Impala, Sam has already rummaged through Dean’s duffle bag and laid out clothes.

The older brother helps Cas lean against the car and tries _not_ to think about the fact that there is a naked butt right against the metal, but his blush only darkens. Cas accepts sweatpants from Dean, swaying dangerously while putting them on, and pulls over an old band shirt. He looks exhausted and basically falls into the backseat when Sam opens the door for him. The younger hunter glides into the passenger seat, but Dean doesn’t move for a moment.

_What the hell just happened?_

A knock from Sam against the window gets him moving.

///

Dean helps Cas to get out of the car while Sam books them a room. Their ride had been quiet, even though there had been countless questions buzzing around Dean’s mind. From the looks of it, Sam was feeling similarly. But the second they had rolled from the square, Cas’ head had quietly fallen against the window and he had started snoring. A cute, barely audible snore, Dean’s brain had noticed. Sam and Dean had silently agreed to shut up and let him sleep.

 _Since when does Cas sleep_ is just one of the many questions Dean has.

“I’ll be next door,” Sam announces as he unlocks the room for Dean. The older brother looks up in confusion, the question written clear all over his face. Sam smiles slyly.

“Soulmate, Dean. I’m not sticking around for this.”

“Bullshit,” Dean shakes his head, “that was just a rumor.”

“Well,” Sam turns to the next room, “Cas sure didn’t fall for me. Literally.” The younger brother laughs.

The realization sinks in slowly, and his cheeks begin burning. The half-conscious angel at his side asks:

“What is he talking about?”

Dean clears his throat and walks into the room. “Let’s get you comfortable first.”

 _Maybe he’ll fall asleep again before I have to explain,_ his brain suggests.

///

The opposite is the case. Cas seems to slowly get his strength back once Dean sets him down on one of the beds.

“How do you feel?”

The angel looks down on himself, scrutinizes the clothes he’s wearing and flexes his fingers. His voice is still quiet when he answers: “Like I have been asleep for ages.”

“Hm,” Dean sits down on the bed opposite, “that sounds reasonable.”

Cas looks up at him, his head tilted to the side. Dean’s stomach drives a loop. “Why? What happened, Dean? Last I remember…” Cas goes quiet and turns away. Dean swallows before he rasps:

“Yeah?”

For a moment, Dean thinks Cas might not answer him. The angel still looks away when he mumbles: “I remember arguing with Chuck. He was furious about us not sticking to his plans. Then there’s just… darkness.”

Dean needs multiple seconds to wrap his head around the new information. He tries to keep his voice clear when he speaks, but some of the pain he has been carrying around sneaks in:

“That has been… that was a long time ago. You have been just… gone. We…” Dean has to take a deep breath, “After a year of searching, Sam thought we wouldn’t find you anymore.”

Cas’ eyes find his. “What about you?”

A broken laugh escapes Dean’s throat as he thinks about the days he spent in his room, the door locked, lights off, laying on his bed without moving. “I couldn’t,” he whispers, “I needed to think you’re still out there. I thought it would be better if you’re avoiding us than to think of… what might have happened to you. Alone. Without… us.”

It takes Cas a fraction of a second to understand. “You blame yourself.”

Dean chooses not to answer. Why should he? He had let Cas face Chuck alone while he had taken care of his wounded brother. He had saved Sam, but lost Cas. The thought had been haunting him. There was nothing to be said. Except…

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

The angel shakes his head. “How did… Where was I?”

“Um… Salt Lake City. You were… a statue.”

Cas looks puzzled. Dean guesses he would, too, if somebody told him he had spent the last two years as a piece of metal.

“How did you turn me back?”

There is the question Dean is avoiding. Because what is he supposed to say? He barely understands himself. Hell, he doesn’t understand it at all. But that doesn’t keep the blood from rushing to his cheeks again. When the awkward silence stretches, Cas probes:

“Dean?”

The addressed clears his throat. Twice.

“How about we talk tomorrow? I’m really tired.” It’s not even a lie. Cas squints his eyes at Dean.

“Are you… embarrassed?”

_Since when is Cas good at reading emotions? Dammit._

“The right person had to touch you - the statue, I mean. To undo whatever Chuck did.”

Cas nods slowly. “And you were the right person?”

“Apparently.” Dean avoids Cas’ eyes. He can still feel the angel’s gaze on him.

“Why?”

_Okay, still not better at social skills. At least still blunt._

_Or maybe he just knows what questions he has to ask._

Dean ducks his head, as if that will save him from having to answer. A look at Cas’ eyes is definitely a bad idea, because he does a pretty good impression of Sam’s puppy eyes. The explanation bursts out of Dean.

“Because I like you.”

Cas looks confused. Like, a lot. But if what happened has anything to say, the angel shouldn’t be opposed to what Dean is saying, right?

“Because I like you more than anyone else does.”

_Shit, how can I be so warm? My palms are sweating._

Cogs are turning in Cas’ brain, and he goes from confusion to disbelieve to suppressed hope.

“Like a brother,” he states, but there is a hint of a question mark at the end.

Dean falls into a frozen panic. He is in way to deep not to say it now. But he has hidden all of this for way too long to say it. Hell, he hadn’t even thought he would ever get to say it anymore. The corners of Cas’ mouth slowly turn downward, and his eyes sink in.

_Don’t make him sad just because you are emotionally constipated._

“No, Cas.” His voice is dangerously close to breaking – again. His heart his racing and trying to escape his body, and it feels like his lungs struggle to provide him with oxygen.

Cas’ eyes are big, and a faint blush colors his cheeks. His voice is still unfairly deep and gravelly when he asks:

“As what?”

_Shit shit shit. Now what?_

Seconds tick by without either of them moving or saying something. Cas just keeps staring at him.

_Well, he did ask a question. He’s not the one who has to say anything._

_Shut up, brain._

Dean wills himself to move, to stand up. Cas’ eyes are fixated on him as he sits on Cas’ bed, close enough to reach out. It takes him another long second to find the courage to actually do it.

He cups Cas’ stubbly cheek, and the angel makes the cutest noise of surprise. Dean’s brain is blaring alarm sirens, but the hunter slowly leans closer.

Cas isn’t moving. Like, at all. He isn’t pulling away, but also not coming closer.

Dean gently touches his forehead to Cas’ and runs his thumb over Cas’ cheek. He whispers:

“Cas, if you’re okay with this, I need you to give me a sign.”

For a long, agonizing second, the angel doesn’t do anything. Then gentle fingers touch the back of Dean’s neck and carefully guide him closer. A smile tugs on Dean’s lips, one that accompanies the wild pull at his guts, and Cas’ words set his heart on fire:

“I am very much okay with this, Dean.”

Their lips brush, and Dean makes an undignified sound that has Cas chuckle softly.

_Holy shit._

They don’t kiss again. It’s not the right time. Not the right place, not _enough_. But there is an unspoken promise of more to come. For a while, they just lean into each other’s space. It feels good. Like a piece of his heart, that Dean has been missing for a long, long time, is finally back.

“I guess now Chucks last words to me make sense.” Cas eventually mumbles into their shared space. Dean just makes a questioning sound. “He said _‘You will suffer, because he will never be at peace with himself enough to save you’_.”

A fist squeezes his guts. Cas continues before Dean has to answer.

“I’m glad you proofed him wrong.”

A careful smile spreads on Dean’s lips. “I am, too.”

Cas yawns, and it infects Dean. They chuckle to themselves.

“Cas?”

The angel looks at him with warm eyes.

_Don’t be an idiot, you can do this._

“How do you feel about me staying in your bed for the night?”

Dean winces.

_Smooth. That doesn’t sound creepy at all._

Cas smiles.

“That would make me very happy, Dean.”

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: I don't know what happened and where you all came from, but thank you for reading and leaving all those kudos!  
> \----
> 
> If you liked this... maybe you want to check out one of the following stories:
> 
> An Angel with Feelings - a sweet Destiel story starting a 100.000 words series, if you're in for a long reading session (https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523321/chapters/43900483)
> 
> Punching Bag - a short story about an abusive relationship between Cas and Dean (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21196226)
> 
> The Definition of Monster - a short story about teenage Dean and his father (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072104)


End file.
